


In Cold Blood

by MurdersintheMorgue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Other, i just keep watching criminal minds idk, its a murder mystery, murder !!, theyre like cops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28156983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurdersintheMorgue/pseuds/MurdersintheMorgue
Summary: Glinda Fortescue had wanted to find her father's killer since the moment his body had been found. It's the whole reason she became an auror in the first place. But when Potter asks her to aid him in a case where the killer's MO is a little more than familiar, Glinda's unsure if she isn't in too far over her head. This isn't even including the victim's widowed husband, Fred Weasley, and his little family, who somehow managed to wiggle their way into Glinda's heart.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

“Ron, you’re too close to this case.” Potter’s voice roared from inside his office.   
Silence finally fell across the Auror floor, and then the door was being swung open and Ron Weasley was storming out. Glinda Fortescue watched as the man angrily entered one of the fireplaces, grabbed a messy handful of floo powder and bellowed for ‘the burrow’, disappearing in an eruption of green flames. Glinda turned anxiously towards Potter’s office, while the rest of the team went back to work. Weasley and Potter’s fights weren’t uncommon, but they were messy in aftermath, and tensions were high over this recent case- considering apparently it had been someone in the Weasley family. 

Potter was standing leaning against the doorframe, his long frame looking worn and tired. He heaved out a heavy sigh at his partner’s antics before running a hand through his already messy hair. Glinda watched the man, bouncing her foot, hoping he would catch her eye. He did, eventually, and gave a slight nod, beckoning her as he turned back into his office. Glinda clattered to stand, making a couple of the older aurors around her give her dirty looks. She offered small apologies as she walked briskly into Potter’s office, hovering close to the door. Potter was already sitting back at his desk, hunched over a messy stack of papers. He glanced up as Glinda entered, and made a frustrated gesture when she paused. 

“Come in, for Godric’s sake Fortescue. And close the bloody door.”   
Glinda did as she was told, plopping in a seat before him haphazardly, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Potter sat back, sighing again, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes. 

“There’s been a murder.” He said simply, and Glinda nodded. She’d known as much- she was on call the night the body was discovered. “There was a call and… Well, it wasn’t pretty. The thing is, Fortescue, I knew the woman? She was- well. She was brilliant, actually. A wonderful woman. Ron knew her too- um.” Potter paused, clearing his throat, and Glinda noticed his eyes glazing over. She remained quiet as he seemed to recollect himself. “She was his brother- Fred’s- wife. They had three kids. She was expecting a fourth they- they’d only just found out. They were going to- they were going to announce it to everyone at Christmas. Molly was going to be so excited...” His voice trailed off after it cracked slightly, and the man kept his gaze stubbornly out the window. 

“So Weasley’s off the case?” Glinda supplied in a meek voice after the moment of silence went on for a beat too long. Potter glanced at her, then cleared his throat again, and nodded, fidgeting with his tie as he leaned forward over the papers on his desk again. 

“Yeah, he’s too heated about this. Can’t trust him to keep a level head, you know? I want to stay on because- because this bastard must be caught. And I’ll need help.” He glanced up at Glinda meaningly, and the woman felt her face heat up. 

“Me?” She asked in surprise, and Potter nodded with a serious expression. 

“I suspect you might have a personal stake in this.” He said as he pushed a photograph across the table. Glinda picked it up with a confused expression, but the expression melted into shock when she saw the contents of the crime. 

“This looks like-” 

“How your father was killed,” Potter interrupted, nodding and sitting back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap, “-exactly. I think it might be the same person.”   
Glinda felt her heart hammer in her throat. During the Wizarding War her father had been kidnapped- tortured, they’d assumed, by Voldemort. But then they found his remains some years after, in a small boathouse close to the shoreline. The details of how he was killed never matched any Death Eater method, much aless Voldemort’s, and it’d been filed as an unsolved case ever since. Most of the aurors in her department had forgotten about it entirely, but Glinda never could. It was the whole reason she’d become an auror in the first place, to catch whatever monster had destroyed her childhood so thoroughly, had done those horrible, vile things to her father. 

And now the opportunity to do just that was here, displayed across the picture in her hands. 

“Jesus.” She let out softly, and Potter let out a little laugh. 

“So, can I count on you?” 

Glinda hesitated. Of course, she wanted to catch her father’s killer, but at the same time, was she ready for the emotional turmoil it would cause her? She studied the picture in her hands, frowning at it. Something seemed wrong. Something seemed out of place. 

“You said this was Ron’s sister in law?” She asked without thinking, laying the photograph down on the table, smoothing her hands across it. Potter paused, brow furrowing. 

“Yeah, why?” 

Glinda tapped the image. 

“She isn’t wearing a wedding ring.” 

  
  
  
  


A phone call later and Glinda found out what ‘the Burrow’ was. 

She was standing in a small living room, surrounded by who she’d been introduced to as the rest of the Weasley clan. She recognized Hermione Granger-Weasley, of course, from the Department of Magic Law Enforcement, and also as Ron’s wife. Bill Weasley was familiar, a face that came in from time to time- and Arthur Weasley, who she’d heard about but had retired far before her time at the ministry. 

“What’s this kid doing here?” Ron had spat, pointing her furiously when she and Potter had stepped into the warm home. An older woman had pulled Potter into a hug before Ron could get anything further out, and was ushering the two of them into the kitchen, asking if they’d like cups of tea. 

“I’d love one, Molly, thank you.” Potter was saying politely, walking slightly behind Glinda, gesturing to follow the short, round woman. Her hair was tinged ginger at the ends, but most of it had greyed from age, and Glinda merely assumed that this woman must be the matriarch of the house. 

“And you, dear?” She was asking as Potter pushed Glinda’s stiff form into a chair, taking the seat beside her. 

“Oh, no thank you.” 

“Fortescue only drinks coffee.” Potter said in a teasing tone, and Molly looked up sharply at the name. 

“Fortescue?” She asked in a high tone, and Glinda nodded shyly. Molly blinked at her, and her face softened so much that Glinda wondered if she might actually start crying. 

“Oh my goodness, look at you. Last time I saw you you were such a tiny thing. Probably only about- oh, six or seven, maybe? And now you’re all grown up! Working with my boys!”   
“For her boys.” Ron called out abruptly as he sauntered into the kitchen as well, Bill following him close behind. Molly seemed to ignore him as she went back to making tea. 

“It’s Glenda, right?” She asked as she slid a cup in front of Potter, sitting across from the two of them. Bill leaned against the counter and Ron sat next to his mother. 

“Glinda, actually.” The young woman said softly, folding her hands on the table. Molly smiled again and it was still sad, and something small and awkward curled in Glinda’s stomach. 

“Wow. It was so sad to hear about your father, back then. Harry used to love going to his ice cream parlor.” 

“He was the only reason Harry passed History of Magic.” Ron said in a glum tone, reaching to snag a cookie from the plate that another one of the Weasleys was placing on the table. 

“Gave me free ice cream every half an hour.” Potter said fondly, and Glinda felt slightly strange in their presence. Her father had gone missing when she was eleven, and even though the memory of that day was fresh in her mind, memories of who he was as a person had long since faded. 

“How’s your mother been, dear? I really should reach out to her. It’s been so long.” Molly was saying, tapping at her lips. 

“Oh-” Potter said suddenly, but Glinda interrupted him without thinking too hard of it. 

“She died.” She said simply, and shock burst across Molly’s face, her eyes tearing up and hands going to rest on Glinda’s. 

“Godric, I’m sorry dear. What a year this has been.” The woman was sniffling, waving a hand as if to dry away her tears, shaking her head a little. 

“I didn’t know your mum died.” Ron said a little bluntly, and Glinda appreciated his forwardness despite his wife coming up and smacking him across the head. 

“Yeah- cancer. She’d been fighting it for years, though. We were lucky for the time we had. They’d only given her three months, but she lived through nearly a decade.” Glinda said this proudly. Molly nodded, patting her hands. 

“She always did seem to be such a stubborn woman.” She was saying fondly, and then removed herself from the room, admitting that this was all just too much for her. 

“Poor mum,” Bill said in a low voice, sliding to take her seat, “-everything with Grayce has been keeping her up at night.”

“Harry, I’m asking again, why’ve you brought the kid.” Ron sat forward a little, ignoring his brother and glaring at Potter. 

“Fortescue, Ron. The MO is the same. She’s taken your place on this.”   
“Her?” the man exclaimed incredulously, gesturing at Glinda wildly, who grimaced in response. 

“Yes, her.” Potter said patiently, blowing on his tea absently and taking an idle sip. 

“But she’s like- barely a teenager.”   
Glinda huffed slightly. 

“I’m 23.” She said through gritted teeth. Ron gestured again, as if that made his point. 

“She’s going to have an emotional stake in solving this, mate. And she’s been a good detective on dozens of other cases.” 

“I have an emotional stake in solving this.” Ron slapped a hand to his chest, looking almost frantic. Potter sighed heavily. 

“Ron, you’re _too_ emotional. Plus with everything going on with Hugo-” 

“To _hell_ with Hugo.”  
“No.” Hermione suddenly cut in, stepping forward and looking furious. “No, not to hell with Hugo. Our son is suffering and you want to take on _more_ work?” 

“Grayce was _murdered,_ Hermione!” Ron roared, standing so abruptly that the chair he’d been sitting in had clattered the floor noisily. “Don’t you understand that? I have to be on this case. I _have to_.” 

“Ron, sit down.” Potter said in an even tone. 

“No, you righteous dick, I will not sit down. Just because you got promoted over me doesn’t make me any less of an auror than you-”

“Ron,” Hermione pleaded, “-nobody thinks you’re-” 

“Shut it, ‘mione. Harry, you listen to me. You _will_ put me on this case. You bloody owe me that much.”  
“Ron-” Potter began again, but suddenly the door opened, and three kids were rushing in, bundled up and wet from the snow. 

“Uncle Harry!” The smallest, a little girl with curly red hair, exclaimed, and bounded over to wrap her arms around Potter’s neck. Glinda blinked at the child, and glanced curiously at the man who followed them through the door. He froze slightly when taking in the scene, and offered a meek smile towards the two aurors. 

“Thought I’d seen the last of you guys.” He said quietly, “At least for a little bit.”   
“Sorry Fred.” Potter muttered with a grimace, allowing the girl to crawl into his lap, snow covered and all, “We noticed something.” 

The room fell silent. Glinda watched the man called Fred gently help the two older children, one of them needing a boot pulled off, the other getting their zipper stuck. He spoke calmly with them, with small smiles, but he also looked like the life had been beat out of him. He looked like a man who was just going through the functions without really registering what was happening. 

There were three girls. The older two had greyish blonde hair, which was long and unbrushed, one of them pushing it out of their face in frustration as she tried to get her boot off. Hermione ushered the three away once they were finally dry, Molly reappearing and telling them to go upstairs to the TV room, that she’d make them some nice hot cocoa. Fred finally turned back to Potter and Glinda, and let out a long breath. 

“Alright, what’s going on.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR DESCRIPTION OF DEAD BODY, WOUNDS AND DISMEMBERMENT

Potter had gotten them alone in the living room. The kids were upstairs and fed, and the rest of the Weasleys went back to what they’d been doing before Potter called in. Fred was sitting on one of the beaten looking armchairs, nursing a cup of tea Molly had pushed into his hands. Potter and Glinda sat on the couch across from him, Glinda holding the case file, Potter still sipping his own cup of tea. 

“Do I have to look at those again?” Fred was asking, nodding to the file. Glinda paused in placing it on the table, and looked at Potter. Potter shook his head, motioning for Glinda to leave it there. 

“You don’t have to.” He said softly, leaning to rest his arms on his knees. “But we do have to ask a couple of questions.” 

“Ask away.” Fred said with a light smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Glinda slipped a pen and notepad from her bag. 

“Was your wife wearing a wedding ring the last time you saw her?” She asked in an even tone, not looking at the man. 

Fred blinked. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Wedding ring, mate. We noticed in the pictures that she- um, that Grayce doesn’t have it.” 

“Oh I just- I mean, I thought you guys still had it, I guess.” 

“Was she or was she not wearing it?” Glinda pushed, looking up at Fred now. The man shot her a glare. 

“Yes, she was wearing it.” He said in a hard voice, making Glinda shrink slightly, “She always wears it. Wore it. Fuck.” The man put one hand to cover his face, his breathing growing short and uneven. “She always wore her wedding ring.” He said softer. “Always.” 

“Alright, that’s alright, you’re doing great mate.” Potter was saying, reaching out to put a comforting hand on Fred’s knee. The man dropped the hand from his face, patting Potter’s hand with an appreciative expression. He looked so sad. “We just have to know if there’s any reason she wouldn’t have had it on, that’s all.” Potter continued. Fred shook his head. 

“No, mate, I dunno. I have no idea. She-”

“Always wore it, got it. So the killer must have taken it.” Glinda said aloud, interrupting the man and jotting the note down on her pad. The room grew cold, and she glanced up to see both men glaring at her. She cleared her throat, shifting slightly. “Sorry. And, I’m sorry for your loss.” She said dully, hoping it would make their expressions go away. Fred’s simply turned to indifference as he looked at Potter, but Potter’s eyes grew angry before turning to meet Fred’s gaze. 

“She’s new.” He said helplessly, and Fred suddenly smiled gently, looking between the two of them. 

“Yeah, I can tell.” He said in a teasing tone, and Potter’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly. Glinda absently wondered what sort of a man Fred had been before the murder of his wife, to be so functional and gentle after such a tragedy. It’d taken her mother months to be able to speak full sentences again, much less offer a smile. 

“Well,” Potter said with a matter of fact tone, “If there’s no other reason you could think of, we oughta get going.” He stood with a little slap on his thighs, looking at Glinda expectedly. 

“But-” She said helplessly, but Potter gave her another hard look, and Glinda shot to her feet. 

“Thank you for your time, Mr.Weasley.” She said hurriedly, offering him a hand. Fred looked at it with a slightly amused expression, and took it, shaking it once. 

“No problem kiddo.” 

“Leaving already?” Molly cried as Potter dragged Glinda back into the kitchen, telling her he had to make a round of goodbyes. She stood awkwardly in the corner as Molly grabbed Potter’s face, kissing both cheeks and blubbering a little. Arthur shook his hand, and Bill offered him a slap on the back. 

“Give Ginny our love, mate. Better be seeing you next week.”   
Potter chuckled nervously, giving a little nod. 

“Of course! Ginny’ll be dragging us all back the moment the kids get home.” 

Glinda wondered if Ginny was the red haired woman in the pictures on Potter’s desk. More goodbyes were exchanged, and Glinda blinked in surprise when a bag of home make cookies were being pushed into her hands by Molly, who kissed her cheeks the same way she had Potter’s. 

“Take good care of our boy, darling. I hope we’ll be seeing you again.”   
“Of course you will. Your son is a part of an ongoing investigation.”  
Molly’s face grew cold. 

“Excuse me?” 

Glinda sensed she’d said something wrong, and looked at Potter for help. The man let out an exasperated sound, clapping a hand on to Glinda’s shoulder. 

“Molly, ignore her, honestly. I don’t think she’ll be-” 

“-Glinda, you should come back tonight for dinner.” 

The firmness in Molly’s voice made Glinda nod yes before she could think twice. The woman smiled warmly then, patting her hand. 

“-coming back here.” Potter finished lamely. Molly turned to him. 

“You too, young man. Arthur and Bill have some work to do tonight, so it’ll just be me and Fred and the girls. It’ll be nice to have more company. Bring Ginny!”   
“I don’t think-” Potter was saying, but Fred had stepped into the kitchen, and silence fell across the room. 

“You two should come. The girls love seeing you, Harry.” The man said in a small voice. It was amazing to Glinda how such a huge man could seem so small under everyone’s gaze. Potter ducked his head a little, obviously embarrassed. 

“Ginny’s got practice late tonight. But I’ll see if we can make it.” 

Molly smiled, and looked back at Glinda, setting her hands on the woman’s shoulders. Glinda felt small under Molly’s soft gaze, and had to hold herself back from stepping away from her grasp. 

“Good.” Molly was saying with a brief nod, moving one hand to pat at Glinda’s cheek. “Good, okay. So, shall we say six then?” She looked between the two of them for confirmation. 

“Oh, I don’t-” Potter was saying, but Glinda was looking at him now, and he caught her eye. “Yes, okay. Six works.” He said with a heavy sigh, and Molly burst into a great grin. 

“Oh, Glinda darling, I hope you like pasta. It’s all Clove agrees to eat right now and what with everything going on-” 

“I love pasta.” Glinda interrupted awkwardly. She wasn’t sure who Clove was, but assumed it must have been one of the girls. At the soft look Molly gave to Fred, she assumed she was probably right. 

  
  


Potter grabbed her arm after they finally got back to the auror department, dragging her into his office, shutting the door with a loud bang. 

“What the fuck was that?” He hissed at Glinda, going to pace behind his desk. Glinda huffed and dropped into one of the chairs, hiding her face with her hands. 

“I’m sorry, I forgot how close you are to them. My mind just stopped working.” She admitted in an exasperated tone. 

“Close to them? Fortescue, they’re my _family,_ Molly practically raised me. Fred is like a brother- hell, he is a brother to me.” He braced himself against the back of his chair, rubbing between his eyes with a great sigh. 

“So Ginny is..” Glinda asked timidly, dropping her hands a little to look at Potter.

“My wife- look, Fortescue, I asked you to be on this case because I know you’ll be diligent in helping solve it, but you can’t just go around insinuating who’s under investigation or not.”   
“But he is under investigation, isn’t he? Fred Weasley, I mean.” 

Potter blinked at her. 

“What’re you on about? No, of course he isn’t.” 

Glinda let out a small frustrated sigh, sitting up straighter in her chair. 

“Look, Potter, I get that you’re close to the family, but we can’t rule out the husband just because you’re friends with him. “

“There is no doubt in my mind that Fred did not kill his wife, Fortescue. His alibi is sound and he would’ve been only eighteen when your father was kidnapped. Far too young and busy to be torturing some old man in the woods.” Potter paused, “I’m sorry, that was harsh.” 

But Glinda gave a quick shake of her head. 

“I’m not sensitive about it, Potter. But you obviously are. Forgive my forwardness, but maybe you were quick to judge just Weasley as being too close to the case.” 

Potter dropped into his chair heavily, running a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh. 

“Maybe you’re right. I just- I want to catch this guy before he hurts somebody else. Before he ruins another family.” 

An awkward silence fell between the two of them, and Glinda searched her mind for something to say, but nothing came forward. The moment became lengthy as Potter stared out the window. It was starting to snow outside, and the sky was getting darker earlier these days. Glinda slid the case file from her bag quietly, placing it back on Potter’s desk and opening it again. Potter glanced over as she did so, and swiveled his seat to look at what she was sliding out. The photographs of the crime scene were glossy against the harsh lighting, and Glinda leaned so close to the one of the body that her nose was almost touching the paper. 

“What’re you doing?” Potter mumbled as Glinda searched the floors surrounding her. 

“My father was on a pentagram of sorts, when they found his remains. Was wondering if maybe she was too. And- yeah-” She pointed to the edge of the carpet, at the upper right corner of the photograph, “Here, see? It’s been moved. Say-” She looked up at Potter swiftly. “Are we still able to see the body?” 

Potter blinked, then nodded, reaching to pull a paper from beneath the stack of photos. 

“Yeah- autopsy’s here, though.” 

Glinda took the paper absently, glancing between the photo and the sheet. 

“All of these wounds were done post-mortem?” She said in surprise.

“That’s what the autopsy says.”   
“Even this one?” She tapped at the cut right above the vic’s collarbones. It was straight across, from shoulder to shoulder, but looked messier than the others- as if the blood had clotted. 

“That’s what the autopsy says.” Potter repeated in a tired tone. Glinda looked up at him. 

“I want to see the body.” 

Potter shrugged and reached for the phone. 

Wizard morgues weren’t really any different than muggle ones. There was still the same strange, lingering smell of death in the place. Corpses were held in metal shelves, along one side of the wall. The bodies were cut apart, prodded, poked, analyzed. The only real difference was the methods of going about it- the magic making everything cleaner, quicker, more efficient. But this also leads to the possibility of mistakes- just because something can be done faster doesn’t mean it should be. 

The wizard who’d done the autopsy for Grayce Weasley was an older man named Fen Starweather. He was on call then, and had been waving his wand over the body of a young boy when Glinda and Potter walked in. 

“A mishap with some unforgivables.” The man said with a small smile at the expression on Potter’s face. Glinda glanced between the body and Fen before stepping forward with the file in her hands. 

Recognition dawned on Fen’s face as he looked between the two of them, nodding and leading them towards the wall of metal drawers. 

“Quite a pity to hear about, obviously. Was good friends with her mother, actually, back at school. Such a bizarre thing to see, a woman looking like one of your childhood friends coming in on a slab. Such a horrible way to die. Such a horrible thing to see.” He was shaking his head as he rolled the body out with a clatter. Glinda went to unzip the bag without thinking, and Potter grimaced at the blue lipped face that popped out. 

Grayce had been a beautiful woman, with rosey skin and long dirty blonde hair. Her face was round, and expression soft, as if she was merely sleeping. Glinda wondered what she could have been like in life, with her heavy laugh lines and crow's feet. 

“She was pregnant, you know.” Fen was prattling on, “Such a sad thing to see. And obviously, difficult to patch up. Her hand, you know, it’s still missing and-” 

“Yes, Starweather, we know.” Potter said in a tight tone. Glinda paused in her examination of the body to glance at her partner. His lips were pressed into a tight line and his face a little pale. She wondered if she’d been right about him being too emotional- but then again, people had told Glinda her whole life that she could be a little more emotional about things. Fen bristled slightly at the tone of Potter’s voice. 

“No need to get high and mighty with me, Mr.Potter. Everyone knows you’re a war hero and all that but- well, everyone down here is treated exactly the same.” The man said in a haughty tone, and Glinda glanced between her partner and the coroner. 

“They were friends, Starweather.” She said with a simple smile, and Fen’s face fell a little. Potter coughed awkwardly as Glinda went back to looking at the body, ignoring Fen’s muttered apologies. She unzipped the bag further, revealing the woman’s chest and lower torso. Potter let out a soft sound and looked away, stepping back slightly and shoving his hands in his pockets. Glinda leaned close to examine the faint scars indicating where the wounds had once been. 

“Starweather, is there any way you could reopen these? Can we see what they looked like night of?”

Fen mumbled and grumbled for a moment about how he’d put a lot of work into making her presentable for her family, but ultimately agreed, and Glinda helped him lift the body onto a new cart, wheeling it towards some lighting. They unzipped the bag fully, and Fen waved his wand across the body, the cuts and wounds making an unsettlingly wet noise as they reopened, blood appearing for reference, as the cadaver had already been drained of the stuff. 

Potter hovered back as Glinda slid out her own wand, prodding at the wound across the collarbone. 

“Fen-” She gestured to the man, who seemed surprised at her using his first name, “Doesn’t this look pre-mortem to you?” 

Fen slid his glasses from the top of his head to his face, leaning to inspect where she was pointing. 

“-I suppose.” He muttered lowly, nodding, “Yes, actually. That does look clotted.”   
“That’s what I thought.” Glinda muttered, shooting a meaningful look at Potter, who shrugged helplessly. “And here- this was done by hand- with a knife. See how the skin is ripped, just-” She stuck the tip of her wand into the wound to lift the skin back, and it made a sickening sound, “-here.” 

“Jesus, Fortescue.” Potter muttered, but he leaned around Fen slightly to get a good look at what she was talking about. 

“Yes, yes, I do see the difference.” Fen was muttering, bringing a hand up to his mouth as he realized his mistake. Glinda let out a confident little hum as her eyes grazed across the rest of the body. 

“It looks like two different hands.” She said suddenly, “Two different methods of cutting. Here- look, another pre-mortem.” She pointed at a deep gash on the body’s upper thigh, with the same clotting and ripped skin. 

“And here too.” Potter noted, pointing at where the hand had been severed from the wrist. 

“So he cut her up by hand before killing her, and then continued to cut her afterwards with a wand?” Glinda muttered curiously, walking around the table to examine the arm with the missing hand. 

“You’d think it’d be the other way around.” Potter commented, gesturing to another long slash on her upper abdomen. 

“And with the pentagram added in, maybe it’s some sort of ritual?” 

“These cuts weren’t done with a wand-” Fen suddenly pointed out, adjusting his glasses nervously. The two aurors looked at him. “-they’re all done by hand. She was killed completely by hand.”


	3. Chapter 3

Back in Potter’s office, it was Glinda’s turn to pace. Potter sat on the edge of his desk, adding notes to the autopsy on his knee as Glinda thought out loud. 

“My father’s body had been too aged to tell the cuts apart,” She was saying, “So we technically don’t know if we’re looking for the same guy.” 

Potter shook his head with a little grunt. 

“But everything else is the same- the dismemberment, the missing right hand, the laying out of the body-” He glanced up, “-the only thing different is the missing wedding band.” 

“Maybe he’s evolving.” Glinda offered absently, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s a copycat. There was a reshowing of the Unsolved Cases episode on my father last week, maybe someone saw that and-” 

“No, no there’s too many similarities. If we’re right about the pentagram, which we have to swing by and check about, by the way.” Potter glanced at his watch as he spoke, letting out a soft curse. “It’s almost half til six.” 

“Okay, so we can go now on our way.” Glinda stated, reaching for her jacket, and Potter shook his head at her, eyeing her outfit. 

“You don’t want to go home and change first?” He asked with a judgmental expression. Glinda’s face flushed as she looked down at her simple slacks and white dress shirt. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” 

“Well it’s a little… Stuffy, innit.” 

“For a dinner?” 

“It’s a Weasley dinner. You’d best hop home and put on something more casual. I gotta grab the missus, anyway. I’m sure Molly’s called her by now.” 

“I thought you said she has practice.”   
“Just go home and change, Fortescue. I can trust you to get to the burrow on your own, yeah?” 

“Wait you’re not- you’re not going with me?” Glinda’s voice sounded a little squeaky when she was panicking. 

Potter looked up at her in surprise, and he hopped off the desk with a small laugh. 

“Well, yes. You’re an adult, aren’t you? Don’t tell me I have to hold your hand on the way to a small family dinner?” 

“Potter, I don’t know these people! What if I come too early, or too late, and you’re not there and then I-” 

“-And then you’ll be made right at home, I’m sure. The Weasleys are the most warm and welcoming people I’ve ever met, Fortescue, you’ll be fine.” 

But as Potter apparated from the office, leaving Glinda alone, she felt her chest tighten as she was sure she would be anything but fine. 

Glinda’s apartment was clean, minimal, quiet. She liked white furniture and plants, and the flat was almost completely open, save for the small hallway that held doors to her tiny bathroom and neat little bedroom. She didn’t have a fireplace, and chucked her shoes off in the basket she kept by her designated appareting spot. The woman let out a long sigh as she glanced at her watch again, it telling her she only had fifteen minutes until she was supposed to be at the burrow. She debated for a moment about taking a swig of the small bottle of whiskey she kept on her coffee table. She grabbed it as she walked briskly to her bedroom, undoing the first few buttons as she did so. 

Her wardrobe consisted mainly of work clothes- dress shirts and loose slacks, a couple of formal dresses her mother had bought her, a new simple black dress she’d had to buy for her mother’s funeral. Glinda didn’t have many female friends, not by choice but more by circumstance. Her mother had pointed out once that it was probably because Glinda had seemed so emotionally closed off that she could only really relate to men. Glinda had never really thought too hard about it. Friends had never really been a priority in her life anyway. 

She fretted over what to wear, and decided that she would take a shot of the whiskey, enjoying the way it burned down her throat as she stood in her underwear, staring helplessly at her options. What does even wear to such a dinner? Casual, Potter had said, and Glinda reached helplessly for her one band teeshirt, which was long and had a couple of holes in the collar. No, she figured after brushing over the fabric, pulling her hand back and shaking her head. Too casual, she thought as her mind wandered back to what the Weasleys had been wearing. Sweaters, mostly, handmade looking. Jeans, she considered, remembering how Fred’s were worn looking, wet from the snow. She pulled a pair from her drawer, taking another sip from the bottle in her hand before setting it down and putting them on. They sat high up on her waist, the way she liked them to fit, and scanned her sweaters. She considered just wearing them with her work shirt, but when she went to put the thing back on she got a faceful of morgue smell, and grimaced, tossing it back into her hamper. Pulling a clean dress shirt from it’s hanger, she buttoned it haphazardly before tugging a black sweater over her head. She examined herself in the mirror nervously, feeling the whiskey settle in her stomach as she tugged the collar out and adjusted it to sit comfortably. 

“As good as it’s going to get,” She muttered to herself, adjusting the sleeves and bunching them up to her elbows. 

Taking one more shot of whiskey- for courage- she went back to her apparating spot and tugged some boots on, lacing them up slowly. Her watch told her she was already about ten minutes late, and her heart beat in her throat as she threw on a thick coat and apparated to the burrow. 

  
  


She’d landed in front of the front door. The idea of appearing inside had made her feel rude and intrusive, and the crisp winter night calmed her nerves a little- and sobered her up slightly. Glinda cautiously stepped to knock on the door, but it swung open before she could do so. Fred Weasley was standing in front of her, looking just as shocked as she felt. 

“Hello again.” He said in a light tone, and Glinda dropped her hand to her side, face burning. 

“Hello.” She said quietly, stubbornly keeping her eyes on his chin. 

“Mum, guest at the door.” Fred called out loudly into the house, stepping back to let Glinda in. She smiled awkwardly as she slid past him, and he bounded out, shutting the door noisily behind her. Glinda took a moment to really take the house in- a bushy Christmas tree sat in the living room, decorated with all sorts of mismatched items and the kids playing happily around it, the floor littered with presents and toys. A fire was dying down in the huge fireplace, and cooking noises were coming loudly from the kitchen as a woman let out a loud curse. The whole place smelled heavenly, like homemade food and firewood. Glinda had never considered such a home could actually exist- her own home having always been pretty quiet and clean, her mother liking to keep things orderly, and never having really been a good cook. 

“Oh, hello darling!” Molly was saying as she emerged from the kitchen, and Glinda suddenly felt the alcohol warming her veins again as the woman grabbed her face, pressing kisses to her cheeks and offering her a brisk and tight hug. “Just put your coat on that rack there, and come come, I’m just finishing with the cake.” 

“Cake?” Glinda repeated anxiously as she slipped her jacket off her shoulders, wondering if she should have brought something. Her mom’s voice was scolding her in her head. Glinda glanced at the playing girls, who seemed content in their own little world, the youngest yelling about something and the other two laughing at her, one of them holding a doll out of her reach. And then she followed Molly into the kitchen. 

“Would you- um, could you use any help?” Glinda asked softly as she hovered by the table. Molly didn’t react, which led Glinda to assuming she couldn’t hear her. A moment passed that she spent fretting over whether or not to try again. She did, finally, speaking up as much as she could muster, and Molly gave her a gentle smile. 

“Oh, no dear, don’t worry about that. Just sit your pretty little butt down. Would you like some tea? I already had a kettle on a moment ago and- oh, Fred!” Glinda turned slightly to see the man entering the kitchen, holding a couple of logs and looking flushed from the cold. “Just put those in the stove, darling. Do you think you could make Glenda here a cup of tea? Oh, please, do sit down.” 

Glinda blinked at the gentle sternness of the order, and sat quickly in the first chair she could reach, folding her hands and crossing her ankles, feeling awkward and shy. Fred stepped into the kitchen swiftly, his long legs taking him across it in two strides, and he had to crouch low to push the wood into the little old fashioned stove they had in a corner. 

“Um- so uh- Potter’s not here yet?” Glinda asked softly, and Molly shook her head from where she was pouring spaghetti into a large bowl. 

“No, not yet, but those two are always late.” The woman said with an affectionate smile, tapping Fred gently as he stood up and pointing at a jar of sauce that appeared out of her reach. He grabbed it for her easily, handing it over thoughtlessly as he proceeded to reach for the kettle already on the stove and pour steaming water into two mugs. 

“How do you take your tea?” He asked Glinda with a glance, plopping tea bags into the water. 

“Oh, um. Just black, please.” Glinda said awkwardly. 

“Oh, shit, you don’t like tea do you?” Molly exclaimed suddenly, turning to level Glinda with an apologetic look. The sharp curse surprised Glinda coming from the little older woman, and her face flushed spectacularly. She held up her hands, shaking her head. 

“No, that’s alright, I’d love a cup.” She stammered, nodding at Fred’s curious look. He let out a soft chuckle and tapped his mother on the head. 

“It’s alright, mum. She’ll drink it to be polite.” He said in a teasing tone, and Molly huffed a little, glaring up at her son. 

“I don’t want to force her to drink something she doesn’t want.” She was saying, but Fred was shaking his head, turning back to the mugs. Molly fretted for a moment more before turning to go back to preparing the dinner. At the same point Fred moved to the table with the readied cups of tea, one of the older girls came running into the kitchen, closely followed by the youngest. 

“Daddy, when’s dinner going to be ready?” The girl asked sweetly, grabbing onto Fred’s pant leg and tugging slightly as he placed a cup before Glinda. She thanked him quietly, but it seemed to go unnoticed as he looked down at the girl. 

“Soon, darling, but sooner if you guys would have helped.” 

The girl pouted in response, but the younger one ran to Molly’s side, tugging slightly on her skirt. 

“Can I help at all, Nanna?” The child asked politely, and Glinda couldn’t help but smile warmly at the small girl. 

“Uncle George says we don’t have to help, that we’ve been through a traumatic event.” The older girl was saying to her father, pronouncing the large word clearly and slowly. Fred let out a little laugh, ruffling her hair. 

“Uncle George is right, girls, but it would be nice if you could set the table.” 

“I can help!” The little one was saying, running back to her father, “I want to help!” 

“Okay, munchkin, do you remember where the forks and knives are?” Fred had moved to sit down across from Glinda now, looking tired as the girls clamered around his knees. Glinda took the mug of tea into her hands, letting the steam warm her face as she watched the interaction silently. The littlest girl nodded, and ran to one of the drawers, opening it slowly and standing on her tiptoes to peek over the edge. Glinda reached out to help her, as the drawer was quite close to where she sat, and started handing the girl forks. She looked up at Glinda shyly, but took them happily. 

“Do you remember how many we need, Minnie?” Fred was asking cautiously as the girl kept piling the forks into her small hands. 

“Eight. Forks and knives.” The older girl said simply, crawling into Fred’s lap. Fred allowed her, leaning slightly around his daughter to watch the younger one. 

“That’s right, eight. Can you count how many you have there, Minnie?” 

“Seven!” The girl- Minnie- exclaimed, reaching out to Glinda for another one. 

“You sure?” Fred asked in a calm tone, chin tilting up slightly, seeming to count for himself. The girl looked between Glinda and her father with wide eyes, and Glinda mouthed ‘eight’ to her. Minnie blushed and shrank a little, hugging the bunch of forks to her chest. 

“‘Ermind! I have eight!” She cried as she rushed to the table, reaching high to place a fork by each chair. She could barely peak over the edge of the table, and so Glinda absently stood to follow her, shifting every fork into place. 

“Clove, please, go help you sister.” Fred was saying as Glinda and Minnie came around to his side of the table, standing so that he could help as well. He grabbed a stack of plates as the other girl- Clove- grumbled and whined before counting out some forks, following her father as he placed plates around the table. 

Glinda jumped when a large clock by the edge of the kitchen began to ding loudly, two of it’s arms- which Glinda now realized of which it had many- suddenly shifted, and there was commotion happening in the kitchen.   
“Ginny and Harry.” Fred said simply to Glinda’s frightened look, and Molly let out a happy little sound as she straightened her apron, scurrying into the living room. Fred didn’t bother moving, going to grab water glasses, and Glinda felt torn between leaving him alone and going to greet her partner. But soon enough Molly was leading Harry and Ginny in, and Harry was offering Glinda a brief greeting before going to help Fred. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Ginny was saying to Glinda, and she stared at the woman in awe. She was tall, and lithe, wearing a tight brown turtleneck and red hair swept into a high bun. She was beautiful in person, and Glinda felt ridiculously more shy than she had before. 

“Fortescue- uh, Glinda Fortescue.” She said lamely, sticking a hand out awkwardly. The woman smiled, shaking it with a grip tighter than Glinda had anticipated. 

“Potter- Ginny Potter.” She said teasingly, and Glinda let out an anxious little laugh, breathing a sigh of relief when Minnie pushed in between them, demanding to be picked up. 

The Potters had brought a bottle of wine, and Glinda kicked herself for not thinking of doing the same as Fred opened it, pouring glasses for everyone involved. The table had been set, and the two girls present were given small glasses of soda. Potter and the Weasleys preoccupied themselves with conversation about people whose names Glinda didn’t recognize, and so she sat quietly playing with her glass of wine, only half listening to them. 

“Who are you, anyway?” Clove suddenly asked her, and Glinda blinked at the girl in surprise. 

“I’m Glinda- who’re you?” She said absently. 

“I’m Clove.” The girl said proudly, “And this is Minnie. But she’s only five, so don’t mind her.” Minnie gave out a little indignant cry. 

“Just because I’m five doesn’t mean I don’t count!” She whined. 

“Can’t count, don’t count.” Clove sang, playing with a napkin. 

“I can count!” Minnie cried. 

“Can not.” Clove countered. 

“Can too!” 

“I believe Minnie. She counted just fine earlier.” Glinda said cheerfully. Clove shot her a glare as Minnie beamed up at her. 

“See?” The little girl said, getting off her chair and going to sit in the chair next to Glinda instead. Glinda blinked down at the child in surprise as she grinned up at her. She was missing a front tooth. “You’re my friend now, okay Miss Glinda?” 

“Okay.” Glinda said with a surprised little laugh. 

“No fair! I want to be friends with Glinda.” Clove exclaimed. 

“You can both be my friends. People have more than one friend.” Glinda chided them gently. Molly moved then to place a heaping amount of spaghetti and meatballs on to the table, announcing that dinner was ready. Potter moved to top off Glinda’s glass and Fred stood from the table, calling up for the oldest girl, Cecilia. 

  
  


During dinner Glinda learned that Clove was eleven, in her first year at Hogwarts, and Cecilia was fourteen, in her fourth. They were both Gryffendors, like their father, even though Clove lamented that she had wanted to be a Hufflepuff, like their mother had been. Glinda found out that Potter had three kids of his own, which she was embarrassed to not have already known, and that they’d be coming home for the holidays that upcoming weekend. Ginny proved to be a loud and charismatic woman, telling stories about her days on the road as a professional Quidditch Chaser and what it was like being married to Potter. Fred talked about how his shop on Diagon Alley was doing, and Glinda acknowledged that she knew of the place, but had never been. It was, she told him, quite popular when she’d been at Hogwarts, and he let her know that he was more than happy to hear that. 

After dinner had been cleared away and most of dessert had been eaten, Fred allowed the girls to leave the table. Glinda was slightly sad to see them go, as she’d spent most of the dinner talking to them instead of the rest of the adults. It wasn’t that Glinda didn’t know how to talk to adults, it’s just that most of the time she felt like an outsider in their conversation, and the girls had been easy and quick to include her in their own silly back and forths. But now she was alone with the grown ups, Fred pouring more wine into her empty glass, Molly seeming to be a little more than tipsy, cooing about how glad she was to have her daughter and son in law over for dinner. 

“Mum’s been hitting the bottle a bit hard as of late.” Fred said quietly with a soft chuckle as Glinda glanced at him. 

“Seems appropriate, considering.” She said gently, and something dark passed over the man’s face before he offered her a brief smile. Glinda watched him carefully as he leaned back, topping his own wine glass as he went. 

“Yes, well, it’s unlike her. That’s all.” 

“You seem to be fairing pretty alright, though.” Glinda ventured, but at the sharp look Fred shot her, she knew she’d toed a line. 

“Just good at faking it, I suppose.” He said through gritted teeth, before taking a long sip of wine. Glinda felt her palms grow clammy and the alcohol in her system making her brain slow and stupid. 

“So, Glenda honey,” Molly suddenly asked with a little drunken gasp, “What’s your story?”   
“Glinda.” The woman muttered without thinking. 

“I’m sorry?” Ginny offered, tilting her ear towards the younger woman. Glinda cleared her throat. 

“It’s- it’s Glinda, not Glenda. Common mistake.” She said awkwardly, and a tense silence fell over the table. 

“Yes, well, sorry Glinda, silly me. How long have you been an auror?” Molly continued hastily as Potter took an anxious sip of wine. 

“About a year and a half.” The woman said quietly. 

“Only a year and a half?” Molly sputtered, looking between Glinda and Potter. “Harry, you cannot be serious.” 

“Mum-” Ginny said in a low voice, reaching to place a hand over Molly’s. 

“No, Ginny, this is ridiculous. How can this- this-  _ child  _ be a better option than Ron?”

“Mum-” Fred tried this time, but Molly stopped him with a hand. Glinda could feel her dinner threatening to reappear onto the table. 

“Honestly, Harry, this girl barely keep up a conversation, and you expect her to find the monster that did- that killed- that-” Molly’s voice had gone shrill, and then broke, and she was teary eyed, blinking at Potter, who looked uncomfortable and kept glancing at Glinda with an apologetic expression. 

“Molly, we’ve been over this, Ron is too-” 

“Yes, I know we’ve been over this, but I still just don’t understand why-” 

Glinda got up from the table then, the chair scraping across the floor louder than she’d anticipated. Everyone paused to look at her, and she snatched her glass of wine sloppily. 

“Sorry I- um, excuse me.” She said hastily, not meeting anyone’s eye, and scurried into the living room. Glinda hadn’t anticipated the girls being there, and froze slightly as Cecilia glanced up when she entered. But the girl offered a lazy grin. 

“Come to join the real party?” She said teasingly, and Glinda suddenly felt a lot more comfortable in their presence. She felt the tension melt from her body as she smiled at the three faces, going to sit on the floor next to Clove. She and Minnie had been drawing in a huge sketchbook splayed out on the floor, markers and pencils scattered around them. Cecilia had been sitting on the couch, seeming to be on her phone, but slid to the floor when Glinda joined them. 

“What’re you guys doing?” The woman asked as she took a sip of wine. 

“Clove is drawing me and I’m drawing Clove.” Minnie said simply, using a yellow marker to color in what might be hair. 

“I see. Very cool.” Glinda said in that tone that you only use while around children. Minnie grinned up at her. 

“We can do you next, if you want?” She suggested shyly, which made Glinda smile. 

“Yes, I’d like that.” 

“I can just draw you now.” Cecilia said quickly, moving to grab a pencil. 

“I want to draw her too though!” Clove whined, and Glinda laughed gently. 

“If you all draw me, I’ll take the drawings home and frame them.” She told them. Minnie beamed. 

“You really mean it?” 

“Really really.”

“Mummy used to frame our drawings of her.” 

“But she’s dead now.” Clove supplied cheerfully. Glinda blanched at the casual tone of the girl’s voice. 

“Clove, you’re not supposed to use that word. Daddy says we have to say that she’s passed away.” Minnie chided. 

“She was murdered, regardless.” Cecilia muttered, glancing between the paper and Glinda’s face. 

“You know she was murdered?” The woman said quietly, looking between the three children. 

“Well of course, daddy said it’d do us no good to not understand what’s going on in the world.” Minnie stated matter of factly. They all remained quiet for a moment after that, and Glinda took another sip of her wine, mulling over the idea. 

“My dad was murdered, too.” She said without thinking. Cecilia’s face popped up at that. 

“Really?” The girl said with shining eyes. Glinda nodded. 

“The same way your mother was, actually.” She could feel the alcohol pushing away any good sense she might have, but the way that Cecilia was looking at her made Glinda want to be honest with the girl. 

“Will you catch him?” The girl said in a quiet voice, and both Minnie and Clove had stopped drawing, looking between the two of them. Glinda set her wine glass on the coffee table and set both hands on the ground, looking very seriously into Cecilia’s eyes. 

“I am going to catch that goddamn sonofabitch if it’s the last thing I do.” 

Minnie burst into a fight of giggles as Cecilia let a small smile grow onto her face. 

“You’re not supposed to use those words.” Minnie informed Glinda as Cecilia nodded, seeming content with Glinda’s answer, going back to her drawing. 

“You know, our mum saved daddy’s life. That’s why Nanna’s so angry about her death.” Clove said after a little moment of silence. Glinda’s brow furrowed. She’d picked up her glass of wine again, holding it to her chest. 

“Saved his life?” 

“Mhm.” Minnie sang, running a black marker along the bottom of the page. 

“It seems like everyone’s angry about it.” Glinda said softly, glancing back towards the kitchen, and almost having a heart attack when she realized that Fred was standing in the doorway. 

“Hi.” Fred said. 

“Hi.” Glinda replied weakly. The man came to sit down on the couch behind Cecilia, leaning over to see what they were drawing. 


End file.
